


Two-Toned, Bittersweet

by searchforthescars



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn, slow burn ish actually, why did you swipe right on me on a dating app you hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchforthescars/pseuds/searchforthescars
Summary: "Why is Harrow on Tinder? How is Harrow on Tinder? I thought humans were the only demographic allowed, not eldritch horrors. What do I do? Like, do I swipe right?""Do you like her?" Camilla asks."Uh, no," Gideon says like it's the most obvious thing in the world."Then don't swipe right."A moment of silence. And then, "I'm gonna swipe right."OR the “you’re my enemy and you popped up while I was swiping around on a dating app so I swiped right just to screw with you and we matched wtF is going on” AU I posted about on Tumblr one time, but it's more angsty and found-family-ish than I had intended. As usual.
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Coronabeth Tridentarius, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 93
Kudos: 463





	1. A Mess of Conflicting Impulses

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes I'm new to this fandom so pls enjoy my weird found-family, angsty garbage featuring dating app BS and idiot college kids.
> 
> I don't have anyone to edit for me so pls flay me alive for all mistakes/bad-voice-ness in the comments. It's worth noting that I did mess with the in-canon ages for the purposes of this fic (and because I couldn't resist putting them in college for my Own Reasons).
> 
> The title, and all opening excerpts, are from Richard Siken's [_Black Telephone_](http://sporkpress.com/1_3/pieces/Editor.htm) because I'm a fiend for Siken and don't know how to title fics without his works.

_ Personally, I’m a mess of conflicting impulses—I’m independent and greedy and I also want to belong and share and be a part of the whole. I doubt that I’m the only one who feels this way. _

* * *

The only reason Gideon Nav downloads a dating app is that Dulcinea Septimus – one of her two close friends and probably the only brain cell she has left – asks her to.

“That’s the only way I can send you profiles to approve,” she explains one morning, sprawled out on the bench outside the school library, legs outstretched in the sun, breath only rattling a little in her lungs. It’s a good day. Gideon is glad. “I don’t want to go out with just anyone, and I know you’ll stalk me on the date if you don’t get a say.”

“Damn right.” Gideon flips open her silver switchblade. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. The _snick_ of the metal is soothing. “But I really don’t want to make a profile.”

Dulcinea tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Please? For me?”

Gideon knows from years of experience that the battle of the wills is one she has already lost. “You’re lucky I love you so much, Septimus,” she grumbles, pulling out her phone and thumbing it open. “I swear, if I-“

“And would it be the worst if you met someone?” Dulcinea barrels on, acting like she hasn’t heard Gideon at all. Gideon just goes with it, as per usual. “Really, Gideon, aside from Camilla and me, you don’t get very much social interaction on the regular.”

Gideon snorts, typing her information into Tinder and adding exactly two pictures from her camera roll: a blurry photo Dulcinea took of her during her last fencing meet, and another of her in the only formal suit she owns from the last time she went to an athlete awards gala. “There. Send away.”

Dulcinea smiles prettily, the kind of smile that would’ve disarmed a weaker woman (including, but not limited to, Freshman Year Gideon) and looks down at her phone, the smile fading from her eyes before it slips from the rest of her face.

“What?” asks Gideon. She isn’t super well-versed in plumbing anyone emotional depths, least of all her own, but knows Dulcinea well enough to know that something is bothering her. “You okay?”

Dulcinea starts to nod, then sighs and shakes her head. “No. It’s just… Never mind.”

"What?" Gideon hikes up her foot and bends her knee to rest her foot on the bench. Dulcinea watches her with detached amusement. "Come on."

"First of all, can you ever sit like a normal person?" As Gideon shakes her head, Dulcinea continues, "second of all, it's nothing."

"What's nothing?" Camilla Hect appears behind the two women so silently that Gideon nearly breaks her neck twisting around to stare at her. "Oh chill, it's me."

She rounds the bench and plops down between the two of them, dropping her book-laden backpack on the ground between her feet and leaning back with a cardboard carton of food in her hands. "What's nothing?" she asks again, shifting her weight slightly when Dulcinea leans her head on Camilla's shoulder.

"Dulcinea made a Tinder profile,” Gideon says, poking at Camilla’s box of food until Cam slaps her hand away.

Camilla snorts. "Why?"

Dulcinea says something so soft Gideon can't make it out. "Huh?"

"Because I'm trying to get over someone," she repeats, color high in her cheeks. She lifts her head from Camilla's shoulder and pointedly doesn't look at the other girl.

"Palamedes," Camilla says, as if that conveys both the long and the short of it. It kind of does, Gideon guesses. "He and Dulcinea were- alright, al _right_!" She moves away from Dulcinea's none-too-gentle whacks on the arm. "Chill!"

Gideon blinks at both of them, leaning forward and letting her foot drop to the ground in favor of resting her feet on the pavement, her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. "Dulcinea, I don't think another guy - or girl, whatever - is going to help you get over someone you so obviously want to be with."

"That was surprisingly emotionally mature for you," Cam unwraps the fork and knife she'd stashed in her pocket and opens the box to reveal the most disgustingly healthy salad Gideon had ever seen in her life. 

"I can be mature. I have depth." Gideon takes a carrot sliver from the salad. Camilla stabs at her hand with the fork. "Hey! Save the stabby-stabby for practice!"

"If you keep being late in the mornings, I'm going to make you do drills," Cam says around a mouthful of greens. "Although you'd probably enjoy them."

Gideon doesn't say anything back, partially because Cam is right, but mostly because Harrowhark Nonagesimus is currently exiting the campus library across the street and Gideon is more interested in watching the scrawny black-clad figure struggle under a pile of books than anything else.

"What's with you two, anyway?" Cam asks. It takes Gideon a second to realize she's addressing her.

"They have some rivalry going back ages," Dulcinea answers for her, probably assuming Gideon's lost whatever small amount of rational thought she possessed prior to spotting her arch-nemesis. Across the street, Harrow plops her bony butt down at the nearest table outside the library and spreads out, books and papers everywhere, her tiny black laptop careening precariously near the table's edge.

"She's so weird," Gideon says. Camilla nods. Dulcinea gives her a reproachful look. "What?"

"Be nice, Gideon."

Gideon snorts. "No thanks. I'm good."

There was a time when Gideon was nice to Harrow. More than nice. Gideon has been really good about not allowing herself to think of that time, because Gideon isn't the type to rehash pain over and over until she's numb to it, which probably would be a horrible strategy and would certainly undercut her previous claim to Camilla about emotional maturity and depth.

Dulcinea and Camilla take their leave, ambling slowly away and talking about the class they share this semester. Gideon stays on the bench and opens her phone, figuring it was past time for her to check her school email the two times a week she actually remembers. Her phone opens to the Tinder screen when her phone unlocks, and in a moment of equal boredom and weakness for the potential of attractive women, she opens the dating view.

She's only swiping for a few seconds before she comes across a profile that nearly makes her drop her phone.

"Holy _shit_!"

* * *

There are few things that can make Camilla Hect break out into genuine laughter. She has just seen one of those things.

The only problem with that is that she's in the middle of English 1302 when she gets the text. Dulcinea, who sits next to her in perfect stillness and contemplation the entire time, gives Camilla the most scathing look possible for someone who weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet and fusses over every little injury one of her friends sustain.

"What is so funny?" she asks, _sotto voce_ , after Camilla's shoulder keep shaking. "Stop it!"

"Look," she whispers, turning her phone to Dulcinea under the table. Dulcinea's eyes narrow, then widen. "Gideon matched with her on Tinder."

"Oh my word," Dulcinea breathes, eyes dancing a little, lips twisting up in a barely-stifled smile. "That _is_ hilarious."

Camilla ducks her head in deference to the glare the instructor sends her way and pockets her phone. She spends the entire class trying not to lose her mind over that screenshot, and FaceTimes Gideon immediately after class lets out, walking arm-in-arm with Dulcinea and holding the phone so Gideon can see both of them.

"Is that legitimate?" is the first thing Cam asks, laughing out loud when Gideon nods her head morosely. "You're so dramatic, Nav, don't you think texting me ‘what the fuck’ in all caps five times was overkill?"

"To convey this level of shock and terror? No." Gideon's voice sounds tinny through the phone speakers, but her dulcet tones are loud and clear. "Why is Harrow on Tinder? _How_ is Harrow on Tinder? I thought humans were the only demographic allowed, not eldritch horrors."

Despite herself, Dulcinea snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth right after. Gideon cracks a smile. Camilla rolls her eyes. "You two are insufferable."

"What do I do? Like, do I swipe right?"

"Do you like her?" Camilla asks. 

"Uh, no," Gideon says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I- Shut it, Dulcinea," she says in a hurry when Dulcinea opens her mouth.

"Then don't swipe right!"

A moment of silence. Gideon gets that look on her face, the determined mischievousness Camilla has seen during fencing tournaments moments before Gideon takes on whatever the day's unbeatable opponent is, and undoubtedly wins. "I'm gonna swipe right."

“NAV!"

"Oh come on, Cam, it's just another way to fuck with Harrow. I'm not going to pass that up."

Camilla feels like she's aged about 10,000 years in the last five minutes. "Fine. Whatever. Have fun playing gay chicken."

"That's not what that is-" Gideon starts to say before Camilla hangs up on her. Dulcinea lets out a tiny chuckle. Camilla is torn between laughing and wanting to smack Gideon into next Sunday.

"I can't believe I'm eyeing her for team captain after I graduate," is what Camilla settles on as the two set off again, navigating around students and through shiny glass double doors out into the brilliant fall sunshine. The second month of the semester has not yet yielded to winter-cold temperatures; Camilla is delighted she doesn't have to mess with coats and can just run around all day in a sweatshirt or sweater stolen from her roommate's closet and a pair of jeans.

But she knows the cold makes Dulcinea miserable, so she picks up the pace to match the wind as the two of them scuttle to the dining hall just up the block. Dulcinea's light, fine hair blows in the breeze, nearly smacking Cam in the face a couple times.

It's only when they're sitting down, cups of tea cupped in their hands and a tray of food before Dulcinea, that Dulcinea speaks. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?" Camilla takes a sip and only burns her tongue a little.

"Gideon doing...that."

"What, swiping right on Harrow Nonagesimus?"

Dulcinea nods, chewing pensively for a moment. "You don't know? She never told you?"

Camilla shakes her head. She'd only met Gideon last year; the younger girl was an unnecessarily aggressive freshman who tried way too hard to prove herself with and without a foil in her hand. Though they are now friends, there is little Cam knows about her personal life. Quite frankly, if the state of Gideon's locker, bedroom and mind are any indicators, that may be the best decision for everyone involved.

But "Gideon's not exactly forthcoming," is all Cam says, taking another drink and burning her tongue again. Shockingly, the tea hasn't cooled in the span of 30 seconds.

Dulcinea, clearly relieved that the many years of her brain cells dying at the hands of Gideon Nav were not spent in vain, twirls her hair around her finger. "Gideon and Harrow went to high school together."

"So they knew each other? That explains their bitter rivalry." Cam says it with heavy sarcasm, which she feels is appropriate for the situation. 

Dulcinea looks like she wants to say more, but when she looks up from her food, her entire face shifts into something cautiously gleeful. "Oh, Cam, I should-"

"Camilla?"

Camilla resists the urge to thump her forehead against the tabletop. "Go nowhere, Septimus," she hisses at Dulcinea before turning around. "Hey, Corona."

Corona Tridentarius rounds the table to make herself comfortable in a seat across from Camilla, giving Dulcinea a grateful smile when the other girl scoots over. "Didn't expect to see you two here."

"We eat here every Tuesday and Thursday."

"Yeah, but you've skipped the past two days."

Camilla bristles under the observation. "We've had things to do."

Corona meets her eyes for a long moment, purple ringed with violet. Camilla forces herself to not look away, buoyed by determination and a little bit of spite, spite that's misdirected to Corona but really meant for herself.  Camilla knows more than anybody how bad of an idea one-night stands are, and the fact that she had made that mistake with Corona was, in her opinion, one of the worst decisions of her life.

"Where's the third part of this unholy trinity?" Corona breaks their staring contest and looks around, probably for Gideon's unmistakable shock of red hair.

"At home." Camilla lifts her cup to her lips. "Disappointing God."

Corona lets out a startled bark of laughter. Camilla can't help but smile into her tea.

"That's how she spends most of her time, I think," Dulcinea says, taking a demure bite of food to hide her grin. "What brings you by, anyway, Corona? Before we digress too far into making fun of our friends."

Corona rests her elbow on the table, drumming her fingers on the plastic top. "The honor society is hosting a gala at the end of the semester." Camilla barely represses an eye roll, while Dulcinea's eyes light up. "I'm helping organize it, so you both should come. And," she adds as an afterthought, "bring Gideon so she can disappoint God in front of me."

Camilla feels the skin between her eyes creasing. "I don't really think-"

Dulcinea kicks Camilla, hard, in the shins, and beams over at Corona. "We'd love to come."

Corona smiles at Camilla, a bright and shining thing that makes something uncomfortable curl in Camilla's gut. "Fabulous," she says, flamboyantly waving her hand in the air. "I'll tell Magnus - he'll be thrilled."

"You've got a PhD student suckered into this?" Camilla gives up on sipping the too-hot tea and settles for wrapping her sweaty hands around the cup. "How?"

Corona shrugs elegantly. "He wanted to help. His wife is our faculty sponsor anyway, so..."

Camilla lets Dulcinea take the reins of the conversation; the two of them talk about the dress code and food and something about making sure there isn't a repeat of the freshman honors dinner outfit mishap, which Camilla thinks she's heard about before but probably won't ever ask about. She’s about to take her leave when her and Dulcinea’s phones go off in synch with another chaotic text message from Gideon.

_WE MATCHED DOES THIS MEAN SHE SWIPED RIGHT ON ME TOO?_

Camilla starts laughing so hard her tea nearly comes out her nose.

* * *

For possibly only the third or fourth time in her entire life, Gideon has no idea what to do.

She likes to think she has a pretty decent handle on her life, her emotions and even her finances. You don’t make it through 18 years in the foster care system without developing awesome problem-solving skills and really shitty coping mechanisms.

But none of that helps her now. She stares at her phone and the cheerful screen letting her know that she and Harrowhark had matched and briefly contemplates throwing it out her window.

Once that reflexive response dies, she screenshots the screen and sends it to Dulcinea and Camilla with what she thinks is a suitable amount of panic attached. However, neither of them are helpful above and beyond telling Gideon that’s what she gets for swiping right and trying to mess with Harrow, which is useless because Gideon regrets nothing…

Until Harrow messages her, that is.

_Griddle, what is the meaning of this?_

Gideon doesn’t expect her heart to twist and flip at the mention of her old high school nickname. It was ridiculous, but it was how Harrow preferred to refer to her, somehow making such a silly name sound scathing and regretful. 

**_You tell me, scrawny weirdo._** A weak nickname, but the best she can do. **_Finally decided to play the field?_**

Gideon can hear Harrow’s derision in the _Hardly._ she texts a few moments later. _It’s for an anthropology class project._

**_Oh, you’re observing straight white men in their natural habitat?_ **

Harrow doesn’t reply to that. Gideon stares at her phone, trying to decide whether or not she’s willing Harrow to text back or not, when the phone rings.

“What’s up, Sex Pal?”

Palamedes’ sign rattles through the phone. “Gideon, I swear to God Almighty-“

“Sorry, sorry. What’s up, Pal?”

He hesitates like he’s about to argue with his abridged nickname, but thinks better of it. Smart man. Gideon isn’t known for her restraint, something in which she takes some measure of pride.

“Has Camilla spoken to you about the gala?”

He’s so weirdly formal all the time. It stresses Gideon out. “Uh. No. What gala?” she says cleverly.

Palamedes sighs again. “Apparently the honors society is hosting an event. I just found out about it this morning even though I’m _in_ the honors society.” Gideon can hear the eye roll in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if Corona Tridentarius had invited Cam yet, or if Cam had invited you.”

Gideon probably could be in the honors society if she cared enough to apply; she carries a fairly decent GPA despite her iffy class attendance and personal policy of reserving homework for 2 a.m. the morning before it’s due. However, it’s another set of boring meetings and rules she has to follow, and she has enough of that, what with the fencing team and being friends with Camilla and all.

“She’ll probably invite me tonight when I see her again. She’s out with Dulcinea right now.”

Gideon didn’t realize she’d opened her mouth and shoved her whole foot in it until the silence on the phone was deafening. “Shit, Palamedes, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s fine.” It clearly wasn’t fine.

“You know she’ll probably come too, right?” she asks, ignoring the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Camilla, which was saying this line of questioning was a supremely bad idea.

“I am aware.”

“I just don’t want you to be blindsided.”

Palamedes’ voice was decidedly neutral when he says, “Thank you, Gideon, but I will be fine. I’ll probably be too busy to attend.”

“Mmhm. I’ll tell Cam you said hi if I see her first.”

Palamedes barely spares her a curt “thank you” before hanging up. Gideon stares out the window near her bed for a minute, feeling sufficiently bad about herself, before her phone vibrates and startles her out of her self-pity.

_No. I don’t have to explain myself to you._

**_You do if I’m part of your experiment, chilly weirdo._ **

_That’s a redundant insult. And you are not part of my experiment._

**_Then why the hell did you swipe right on me?_ **

_Leave it alone._

Gideon can’t make any promises, so she leaves the message unread. The temptation to fuck with Harrow is strong, although, admittedly, her plan had already surpassed its limits. She didn’t expect to match with Harrow; she simply wanted to enjoy knowing that someday her face would flit across Harrow’s screen, filling the smaller girl with enough rage to probably power a solar car or something.

But instead, they were here. And Gideon had no idea how the hell to feel about the ache spreading slowly through her chest as she stares down at the little chat bubbles.

Overcome with either nervous energy or nostalgia, she wriggles from her chair to the floor and squirms around on her stomach until she finds and fishes out the Nike shoebox crammed under her bed, sharing space with dust bunnies, tennis shoes and her backpack that probably contains nearly-overdue homework. 

Gideon hasn’t opened this box – the physical one or the mental one – since she graduated high school. When she opens the shoe box, the cardboard cracks loudly and kicks up dust. The contents rattle. Gideon realizes her hands are shaking. 

She picks up the faded photograph rattling around in the box barely full of memorabilia and stares at it. Her face is slightly motioned-blurred, but Harrowhark’s is crystal clear. She’s looking up at Gideon, black eyes gleaming, lips pulled back in an almost-smile and pale cheeks flushed. Gideon is laughing at something, her large hand over Harrow’s where it rests on her shoulder.

That was the last night they were happy, the night before everything went to shit. When Dulcinea had the pictures developed, she gave the photo to Gideon with apologies, telling her she wouldn’t blame Gideon for wanting to throw it away.

But Gideon didn’t. She kept it buried in her locker, hidden in her dorm and now hidden here, in this hole-in-the-wall apartment that was officially the first place she could confidently call her own. Well, she shared it with Dulcinea, but this room was hers. Same thing, as far as she’s concerned.

She drops the photo back into the box, her fingers brushing the lanyards from high school fencing meets, the medals and championship certificates, and the folded papers that once constituted most of her Department of Child Protective Services file. If she died tomorrow and someone found this box, they’d be able to figure out almost everything about Gideon that ever mattered.

“Well, that’s sad,” Gideon says aloud, kicking the box under the bed and grabbing her backpack. No sooner does she unzip it and reach for her binder than Dulcinea comes barging through the front door, the noise she makes belying her tiny frame and normally-gentle demeanor.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she asks Gideon before she’s even all the way into her room.

“Doing homework?” Gideon holds up the binder.

“That’s not- On the floor? You’re going to hurt your back.” When Gideon raises an eyebrow, Dulcinea continues, “I mean with Harrow! Gideon, this is such a stupid idea!”

“Relax. I messed with her. That’s it. Promise.”

It’s pretty clear Dulcinea doesn’t buy it. She gives Gideon the most scathing look the gentle girl can possibly give, and gracefully hikes herself up to sit on Gideon’s lofted bed.

“You’re going to break your own heart,” she says, softly, breaking off to cough into her hand. Gideon doesn’t move, knowing Dulcinea will kick her in the head if she does anything even remotely resembling checking up on her. When she doesn’t hear anything sounding like blood being hocked out of lungs, she stands up, brushing off her pant legs, and sits beside her roommate. 

“There’s nothing to break. She’s just Harrow. My rival. The tiny, dark thorn in my side. You know.”

Dulcinea looks like she wants to argue, but another coughing fit interrupts that. Gideon thumps her soundly on the back, then regrets that decision when a clot of mucus goes flying onto her pant leg.

“Ew!” she shouts, half-teasing, as Dulcinea apologizes between coughs. “It’s fine, I’m joking,” she’s quick to reassure, passing Dulcinea a tissue.

“That’s disgusting,” Dulcinea says morosely. “I’m sorry.”

Gideon shrugs. “I’d rather see that than blood.”

Dulcinea wipes her nose, then her lips. “That’s true.”

Gideon sits back down. Dulcinea leans her weight against Gideon’s side. Her warmth radiates through Gideon’s body, quelling the leftover anxiety that had rattled her earlier.

“Corona invited us to a gala,” Dulcinea says softly. “The honors society gala at the end of the semester.”

“Oh.” For once, Gideon remembers the golden rule of Thou Shalt Not Tell Your Friend That Her Ex Called, and shuts up. 

“I kind of want to go, but Palamedes will probably be there.”

“Oh,” Gideon says again, not really sure how to navigate the post-break-up thing, and not sure how to advise anyone else either. Clearly, she isn’t in the best position for pep talks. She wishes Cam was here.

“Should I go anyway?”

Gideon nods. “Hell yeah. I’ll come too, if you want. I’ll be your trophy date.”

Dulcinea laughs a little. “Okay. I’d like that. Corona said we could invite you anyway.”

Gideon tips her head to the side, resting her cheek against Dulcinea’s soft hair. “Sounds fun. Do I have to dress up?”

“Mmhm.”

“Mkay.”  She feels her eyes start to droop a little and sits up straighter, lifting her head. “Want food? I’m hungry.”

Dulcinea shakes her head. “I just ate. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Gideon lets her slide off the bed and pull her along by the arm. “Sleep well.”

Dulcinea pauses at the door to her bedroom. “Gideon… Just be careful.”

Gideon doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Dulcinea disappears into her room, the door creaking closed behind her. She stares into the dark for a second before traipsing into the kitchen, successfully putting Harrow and dating apps out of her mind in favor of trying to remember the best way to cook - and not burn - noodles.

And if she set off the smoke alarm later because she got distracted reading through Harrow's messages? That's no one's business but her own.

* * *

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is many things, but she is not a coward. 

If she was a coward, she would not be standing at Gideon Nav’s door, hand raised to knock, mind already rehearsing the speech she had prepared during her three-hour long anatomy lab. This is the price she must pay for her foolishness, after all, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t attempt to pay it with a little bit of pride left over. 

It’s been three days since the ill-fated Tinder match, and Harrow can’t stop kicking herself for every event that led up to that tragic exchange. She knew it was a bad idea to swipe right on Griddle the second after she had done it; her emotions had run away with logic, leaving her momentarily floored in the face of Gideon’s annoying grin staring up at her from her phone.

Stupid class assignment. Stupid Griddle. She feels like a petulant child, stomping her feet and shaking her fists at the cruel twists of fate that led her to this doorstep.

Steeling herself, Harrow knocks. It’s a few moments later that the door rattles open, and Harrow is face to face with Dulcinea Septimus.

Immediately, the girl’s face goes dark. Harrow isn’t surprised. It’s exactly the reaction she expects from Dulcinea, and the reaction she tries to earn from anyone else that tries to get close to her.

“What are you doing here?” Dulcinea couldn’t sound mean if she tried, but her tone is very guarded.

“I need to talk to Gideon. I know she lives here.”

Dulcinea steps aside wordlessly. Harrow takes two steps into the room and waits for Dulcinea to close the door.

“Is this about the Tinder match?” Dulcinea asks, her voice soft, her eyes unreadable.

Harrow nods, once. “Yes.”

“Hey, Dulcinea, who was that? If it was- Oh.”

Harrow rolls her eyes at the sight of Gideon. She’s standing in the hallway, face red and hair dripping water onto her shoulders. She must have just gotten out of the shower. “Griddle.”

“Harrow.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Gideon’s annoying yellow-gold eyes flit back and forth between Harrow and Dulcinea. She heaves a sigh and pads toward the kitchen. “Fine. Come on.”

Harrow steps carefully through the cramped living space, taking note of the trappings of domesticity: Gideon’s jacket on a chair, Dulcinea’s backpack on the table, their dishes and mugs in the tiny sink.

“So talk,” Gideon says, interrupting Harrow’s observations. She lifts herself up to sit on the kitchen counter, showing off her arm muscles in a way that was probably unintentional. Maybe. Harrow could never tell with Griddle.

“I don’t understand what the purpose of you matching with me was,” Harrow says, disarmed by Gideon’s narrow gaze and Dulcinea’s presence, completely forgetting her entire speech in the process.

“I did it to fuck with you.” Gideon kicks her legs in the air. “I didn’t think you had swiped right too. What’s that about, Nonagesimus?”

“None of your business,” Harrow snaps, chest warming. She is grateful that her high-necked blouse is opaque; she is almost certainly flushed. “I just wanted to ensure that you weren’t going to instigate some insipid game that would distract me from my research.”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gideon says, deadpan. Harrow bites the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting. “Relax, gloom mistress. Your study’s safe with me.”

“I want nothing to do with you,” Harrow snaps reflexively, aggression not matching the tone of the room at all. In her periphery, she sees Dulcinea tense up.

To Gideon’s credit, she doesn’t even flinch. “The feeling is mutual. Believe me.” She gestures to the door. “If that’s all.”

Harrow turns on her heel and stalks toward the door, heart beating so loud she feels she must drown it out with her footsteps. “Goodbye, Griddle,” she snaps without turning around.

Gideon says something, but Harrow can’t hear her over the blood rushing in her ears. When the door slams behind her with a comforting final sound, she leans against the wall and buries her head in her hands, fiddling with the black studs in her ears.

“Harrow?”

Harrow gives one of her studs a yank as she lifts her head; the pain grounds her as she comes face-to-face with Coronabeth Tridentarius.

“Corona,” she says curtly, pushing herself off the wall. “What are you doing here?”

Corona has the grace, at least, to look a little uncomfortable, though Harrow went to school with both Tridentarius girls and knows firsthand how well they can act. “I’m supposed to have dinner with Dulcinea and Gideon. It’s our Friday night tradition.”

Harrow can tell she almost reflexively invites Harrow to join, then remembers herself. The rejection doesn’t sting. She wants nothing to do with Griddle and her asinine friends. The only one she even sort of respects is Camilla Hect, and that’s only because she is more prone to reason than the others are.

“Well,” Corona says awkwardly. “I guess I’ll…” She motions to the door. Harrow steps aside to let her pass. “Have a good night, Harrow.”

“You as well.” Harrow turns abruptly for the second time in two minutes and beelines out of the building, not stopping until she’s out on the street, the cold night air blowing in her face.

“Stupid,” she hisses. “So, so stupid.” She starts walking fast, as if power-walking can help her walk off her shame and anger, but all it does is wind her, which in turn makes her angry.

She hates Gideon Nav. Hates her with her entire heart. Harrow hates her bright yellow eyes and startling humor, hates her bravado and strength.

But more than anything, Harrow hates the way Gideon Nav makes her feel.


	2. Pretend They're Across the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _And again, I ask, why the hell did you match with me on Tinder?_  
>  **
> 
> Harrow should've known. Gideon is like a feral animal; she bites into things and refuses to let go.
> 
> _I thought I told you I didn't want to have anything to do with you, Griddle._
> 
> **  
> _Why? Can you at least answer that?_  
>  **
> 
> It's the same question Gideon had asked one and a half years ago. It's the same question Harrow has been unable to answer for just as long.
> 
> _Because I completely fucking hate you. No offense._
> 
> Harrow powers her phone down and tosses it under her bed, burying her head in her hands and tugging on her hair until her scalp aches, trying and failing to drown out the pain in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you enough for the kindness and love in the comments and on Tumblr. Y'all are so wonderful.  
> As a heads-up, I normally post new chapters when the next one is almost done, so expect the next update somewhere around Wednesday or Thursday. :)

_ Take the parts of yourself that make you uncomfortable—your weaknesses, bad thoughts, vanities, and hungers—and pretend they’re across the room. It’s too ugly to be human. It’s too ugly to be you. _

* * *

Coronabeth Tridentarius can handle awkward. She’s really quite good at it. You don’t grow up with Ianthe and not learn how to handle awkward and petty moments like a champ.

She tells herself that as she lets herself into Gideon and Dulcinea’s apartment, unceremoniously dropping her purse on the floor near the door and kicking off her shoes. “You’ll never guess who I ran into,” she calls in the vague direction of the kitchen, where Dulcinea is leaning against the counter.

“We know. She was here first.” Dulcinea sounds as peeved as Dulcinea can get, which isn’t saying much. “She wanted to talk to Gideon.”

“What about?”

“I matched with her on Tinder and gave her shit." From down the nearly non-existent hallway, Gideon closes her bedroom door. "She came by to yell at me.” Gideon runs and slides into the kitchen in her sock feet. “Hi, Corona.”

“Hi, Gideon.” Corona opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of beer.

“Can we not talk about Harrow anymore?” Dulcinea rubs her temples. “Her attitude gives me a headache.”

“She gives me a headache,” Gideon grumbles, opening the oven and pulling out an only-slightly-singed pan of garlic bread. Corona grabs a slice before they’ve even cooled, toasting her fingers and tongue as her teeth sink in. "Is Cam coming?"

"You saw her this morning," Dulcinea points out. "I haven't seen her since class yesterday."

Corona likes the feeling of butterflies in her stomach a little more than she should at the mention of what Ianthe would have called her 'insipid little crush.' Camilla was everything Corona longed to be - smart, good at giving advice, unflinchingly loyal and really hot - and Corona was having an increasingly difficult time keeping her respectful distance. She doesn't even know if Camilla remembers their one-night stand last semester; it had been, in two words, _ridiculously good_ , and Corona still can't decide if she wants to ask for a date or a repeat performance.

Or both. Both is good.

"She's been acting weird," Gideon muses, swiping a piece of bread and sitting back up on the counter despite Dulcinea's repeated shoves at her thighs and pleas to _get down, I want my coffee mug and your head is in the way_. When that doesn't work, Corona reaches around and pinches Gideon's ear. "Ow!"

"Are you causing someone bodily harm, Corona?" Cam's dry voice sounds from the doorway. She kicks the door closed and tosses her keys halfway across the room, lifting a fist in triumph when they skid and come to a halt atop the dining room table. "Oh, never mind, it's just Gideon."

Gideon raises a middle finger to Camilla, then runs her hand through her overgrown red hair. Corona watches the movement, captivated by the shifting color of the strands. There's no way you could ever get that hue from a bottle.

Gideon hops down to grab the pizza Cam brought and Dulcinea retrieves her mug from the cabinet with a look of supreme satisfaction on her face. Corona perches on the stool off to the side of the kitchen and watches the three of them move around each other, a perfect three-part harmony.

"How many pieces do you want?" Camilla asks her, ripping open the bag of salad Corona knows Cam is prepared to eat all by herself. 

Gideon doesn't even wait for an answer, placing two slices of pepperoni-laden pizza on a plate and sliding it toward Corona. Corona gleefully bites into the greasy slice, fully aware that her sister would be judging her so hard right now. 

"So what are you guys doing this weekend?" Corona asks around her bite.

Gideon thumps her forehead against the counter. Camilla pushes out a dining room chair with her foot, a hint that Dulcinea takes and Gideon does not.

"We have an invitational tomorrow," Camilla answers for Gideon, "and Nav doesn't want to go."

"It's not that I don't want to _go,"_ she says, voice muffled. "It's that Judith Deuteros drives me nuts and I'll probably end up going against her again."

"You'll win. You always do." Corona pats Gideon's arm reassuringly. The muscles flex under Corona’s hand as Gideon lifts her head. "It'll be fine."

“I can count on one hand the times you’ve lost,” Dulcinea says from over by the sink, swallowing a handful of pills with an impressive amount of nonchalance. Corona can feel her gag reflex kicking in out of sympathy, but it doesn’t seem like Dulcinea is even a little bit fazed. “You’re good, Gideon. Deuteros has no idea what’s coming for her.”

Gideon preens a little under the praise. Corona shoves at Gideon’s head until the younger girl stands up and goes to get food.

“I suppose you’ll be in team captain mode all weekend?” Corona asks Cam, who nods, mouth full of salad. “Dulcinea, want to sit together?”

Dulcinea nods. “I heard there’s going to be a house party after.” 

Gideon’s eyes light up. “Really? Where?”

“One of your teammates' houses, I think.”

Cam says, “How did I not hear about this? I’m captain!”

“Right, that’s why.” Gideon sits at the table, slouching despite Dulcinea’s scolding. “You’re in a position of authority - that makes you a buzzkill.”

Dulcinea starts laughing and Camilla swats at Gideon’s shoulder. From her perch at the kitchen counter, Corona watches the tableau, feeling a little jealous even though she’s the fourth piece of this strange puzzle. The three of them had already known each other by the time Corona inserted herself into the mix, partially due to Dulcinea’s influence and partially because she was tired of being sad and alone every Friday night.

These nights were good for her, she supposes. It's nice to be part of a chosen family, and equally nice to spend time with Camilla, even though her heart insists on doing jumping jacks every time the other girl speaks to her, or even looks at her.

Therein lies her current conflict, she muses, watching Dulcinea and Gideon tell Camilla a story that seems to be aging Cam by at least three years. She doesn’t want to bring up the one-night stand in case that’s all it was to Camilla; she’s unwilling to break her own heart over something that may have meant nothing. But she finds herself pining for the woman, and knows that if she doesn’t act on it, she’ll spend a long time hung up on the mystery of what could have happened.

Camilla rolls her eyes at the story’s end, shifting her gaze from Gideon and catching Corona’s eye. Her gaze holds on, narrow and dark, as unreadable as ever.

As Corona watches, she smiles.

* * *

For once in her life, Gideon resists the urge to annoy Harrow.

It’s not an easy task, especially when temptation is so near. Harrow is sitting at the library table directly in front of her, probably close enough for Gideon to hit her with a wad of paper if the desire arose. But sadly, those desires would need to be tempered. Gideon breaks many things – arms (her own, twice), rules (constantly) and hearts (in a good way) – but promises aren’t one of them. And though she hadn’t explicitly promised to stay out of Harrow’s way, she had all but implied it when Harrow showed up at her door last month and tongue-lashed her about that stupid Tinder match.

It’s not that she wants to annoy Harrow, if she’s really being honest. It’s that she just straight-up _wants Harrow,_ which is horrifying. Especially since she has better things to do, such as catch up on a semester's worth of readings she's been skipping, a decision coming to bite her in the ass with the arrival of finals next month.

Instead of reading, Gideon thumps her forehead on the table, earning a sharp look from Dulcinea over an incredibly thick textbook. “Pull it together,” Camilla snaps from her other side. Gideon flips her off.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite study group.”

Gideon raises her head to look at Magnus Quinn, the only PhD student in this entire campus that doesn’t have a stick up his ass. He’s grinning down at the three of them, books tucked under his arm, a paisley-printed lunch bag in his hand. “Abigail forgot her lunch,” he says by way of explanation. Then, “Why is Gideon passed out on the table?”

“I’m not passed out,” Gideon says, thunking her head back down. “I’m suffering.”

“Why?” He moves to sit down, but a look from Camilla convinces him otherwise. “Girl trouble?”

“Don’t get her started,” Dulcinea says at the same time Cam rolls her eyes and Gideon lets out a mournful “ _yeeeeees.”_

Magnus sits down, ignoring Camilla’s glare, and pats Gideon on the head. “You’ll get over her, whoever she is. You’re young. You have time-”

“Oh _Lord_ ,” Camilla says suddenly, voice sharp and a little cold.

“What?” Gideon lifts her head at the sound of Camilla’s _Bad Things Are Coming_ tone. Beside Camilla and across from Gideon, Dulcinea’s eyes are as wide as saucers. She looks like she wants to hide under the table. 

“ _What?_ ” Gideon asks again.

Magnus, blissfully unaware, looks up from his phone with a bright, “Oh, Palamedes!”

Gideon, finally getting it, mouths an _oh fuck_ to the table before turning around. Palamedes Sextus stands behind her, arms laden with books, backpack dangling from an arm. He looks a little bit like a bird skeleton, only with glasses and enough muscles to carry a load weighing half the mass of his body.

“Magnus,” he greets, tone carefully respectful but otherwise void of emotion. “Hey Cam. Dulcinea, Gideon.”

Dulcinea can’t look Palamedes in the face. Camilla looks like she wants to bolt. Gideon isn’t sure whether she wants to laugh or say something to discharge the suddenly tense atmosphere.

And then it gets worse.

“Are you coming?” Harrow snaps from the table beyond them, standing up and planting her skinny hands on her non-existent hips. Palamedes opens his mouth, then closes it again as Harrow stalks over, crossing her arms. “Griddle, why are you interfering with our studying?"

“Hey, this wasn’t me!” Gideon opens her mouth again to ask _why the hell are you and Palamedes Sextus studying together?_ but Cam pushes her chair back as if she's about to leave and Gideon snaps her mouth closed.

“Cam–“ Dulcinea’s breath catches in her throat and she starts to cough, loud and rattling, enough for students around them to turn and shush her.

“Have a care,” Harrow snaps in their general direction. Gideon jumps up, rounds the table and whacks Dulcinea on the back, hard, enough for the twig-looking clot of blood to come up from her throat and into Gideon’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Dulcinea wheezes, “that’s disgusting, here-“

Camilla beats her to the pack of tissues in her backpack, shaking one out and handing it to Gideon. Palamedes’s face is pale under the library’s false white lights. Gideon gets most of the blood off her hand and wraps her free arm around Dulcinea's shoulders, squeezing her gently when she feels the thin body under her hands tremble.

"I'm sorry," Dulcinea says again, taking a tiny sip of water from the bottle Camilla slides her. 

Gideon doesn't say anything. Camilla and Palamedes are having a non-verbal conversation involving prolonged eye contact and arched eyebrows. Magnus is watching with no small amount of amused concern and Harrow...Harrow is staring at Gideon as if she has just did something uniquely awful.

"I'm gonna go wash my hand," Gideon says, stalking off toward the bathrooms. She doesn't realize anyone is following her until she hears the old wooden door open, close, then open again.

It's Harrow. She stands with her back to the door, dark eyes wide and boring into the side of Gideon's face like she's trying to see through to her molars.

“What?” Gideon asks.

Harrow blinks once, hard, shakes her head, moves a half-step away from the door. Gideon grabs a paper towel to dry her hands. “What?” she asks again.

Harrow spins on her heel and flings the door open. It slams into the wall so hard that the force could have ripped it from its hinges if Harrow had more than three muscles.

Gideon watches her until the door swings shut, paper towel dangling from her fingertips, heart thundering loudly in her ears.

* * *

**_You up?_ **

Harrow might actually kill Gideon, she thinks, as the Tinder notification flashes before her eyes. **_Of course you’re up, you sleep for like three hours every two days._**

_Why would you text me ‘you up?’ like a common fuckboy? And what did I say about you not contacting me?_

Harrow turns her phone over and returns to her textbooks, wearily underlining one more paragraph that could be cited in her anthropology midterm paper. When her phone vibrates once, twice, then again, she flips it over with a scowl her mother would say could give her wrinkles.

**_Yeah, wow, sorry, didn’t even think about that._ **

**_Depressing that fuckboys are common though. Like, damn._ **

**_I just wanted to make sure you were okay. The library was super awkward. Sorry you had to see the blood and stuff with Dulcinea._ **

Harrow scoffs. She is familiar with “blood and stuff,” as Griddle so indelicately put it. Dulcinea had been her friend too, back before everything went to hell. Oh, how short a memory Griddle has.

_It's fine._

Silence. Harrow glares at nothing in particular when she feels a knot of...something curling in her gut. When her phone vibrates, she nearly jumps.

**_Why did you follow me into the bathroom? And again, I ask, why the hell did you match with me on Tinder?_ **

She should've known. Gideon is like a feral animal; she bites into things and refuses to let go. 

_I thought I told you I didn't want to have anything to do with you, Griddle._

**_Why? Can you at least answer that?_ **

It's the same question Gideon had asked one and a half years ago. It's the same question Harrow has been unable to answer for just as long.

_Because I completely fucking hate you. No offense._

Harrow powers her phone down and tosses it under her bed, burying her head in her hands and tugging on her hair until her scalp aches, trying and failing to drown out the pain in her chest.

###

_ Harrow first met Gideon in detention during their sophomore year. _

_ Gideon was there for some act or other of misplaced teenage rebellion. Harrow was not in detention; she had just happened to be in the building, delivering paperwork with her parents' forged signatures to finalize her change in grade from freshman to sophomore. This was the second time she had faked skipping a grade. Her test scores were real. Her parents' approval was not. She could have, in theory, asked Aiglamene to sign the papers - she had power of attorney over Harrow, so she had the power - but it was just easier this way. _

_ The teacher supervising detention was her last stop, but they weren't in the room when she arrived. Gideon was the only one, sitting sideways in her desk chair, leaning her head on her hand, her bright red hair a tousled mess and her gold eyes gleaming at Harrow from across the room. _

_ "Are you lost, gloom mistress?" _

_ Harrow felt her spine stiffen. "What did you just call me?" _

_ Gideon sat up a little straighter. "Gloom mistress. You know..." she gestured to Harrow's outfit, the skirt, shoes and blouse all in varying stages of black. "For obvious reasons." _

_ Harrow sighed. "I'm not lost. I'm waiting for the teacher to come back." _

_ Gideon shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm out of here in fifteen minutes anyway, even if he doesn't come back." _

_ The two girls just stared at each other for a long moment. Harrow took in the quirk of the girls' mouth, her dirty leather jacket and scuffed boots, in a manner she tried to make as clinical as possible. When the bell rang on the hour, Gideon stood up and hiked her backpack on her shoulder. _

_ "What's your name?" she asked, walking toward the door, holding out her hand as if to shake. _

_ Harrow looked at her, at the hand, and back at her. "Why?" _

_ "Because I haven't seen you before and I'm not rude." _

_ Harrow took the hand. The girl's palm was warm, the shake firm. "Harrowhark." _

_ "Gideon." When Gideon smiled, there was a small dimple near the right corner of her mouth. "Nice to meet you, ebony lady." _

_ Harrow decided then and there that Gideon was annoying. She aimed a light kick at Gideon's ankles, then stepped around her to leave her papers on the teacher's desk. "What's wrong with using my name?" _

_ Gideon's singsong voice came from somewhere down the hall. "Nothing! See you around!" _

_ And Harrow did. It was as if skipping a grade unlocked some cruel twist of fate. Gideon Nav was always around: horsing around with her fencing teammates at lunch, making far too much noise in history class, pretending to sleep in the back of AP Physics. Her bright hair and brighter eyes followed Harrow like a bad ghost. She already had too many of those haunting her sleep for one to haunt her waking hours as well. _

_ But, like her nightmares, Gideon wormed her way into Harrow's mind and wouldn't let go. _

###

When Harrow turns her phone on, it's nearly three in the morning.

Three text messages come in, spaced hours apart. None of them are from Gideon. She deeply resents the slight dip her stomach does when she realizes this, and sets about clearing her notifications.

**Honors Society Officers** **: Tomorrow's meeting is about the end-of-semester gala. Please plan to attend.**

**Coronabeth Tridentarius** **: I'm letting you know this as a friend, Harrow: Gideon is going to come to the honors society gala. Cam and Dulcinea invited her.**

**Palamedes Sextus** **: Nonagesimus, what happened between you and Gideon Nav? I didn't even know you two were friends.**

Harrow lets out a groan and slaps her phone down on her desk, only narrowly remembering to set the alarm. _Fuck you, Gideon. Fuck you._

As she curls under the covers and closes her eyes, her own words dance before the darkness: _Because I completely fucking hate you. No offense._

She never did figure out if those words were true.

* * *

"Come on!" Camilla shouts, raking her hair from her face with a sweaty hand. "Nav, you're not even trying!"

Gideon rips off her mask and glares, gesturing emphatically with her foil. "I am!"

"No, you're distracted." Camilla lowers her voice, aware of how it echoes. "What's wrong?"

Gideon doesn't answer. Camilla watches as the younger girl stalks off to get a drink of water. It can't be classes - the semester is almost over and Cam knows for a fact Gideon only has one final (lucky her). It's probably not nerves over the tournament they were about to board a bus to attend, since Gideon attacks anxiety the way she does everything else: with determination and all the tact of a bulldozer.

And then Camilla sees the tiny black head of Harrowhark Nonagesimus, and it all makes sense.

_Fucking hell_.

"Gideon, get over here."

Gideon obediently returns, wiping water from her mouth. "What the hell is Harrow doing here?"

The flashes of guilt in her gold eyes tell Cam she's hit the nail on the head. "I don't _know_ , okay? She just...follows me around sometimes."

If it were anyone else, Camilla would tell Gideon to call the police. Since it's Harrow, she just adds that to the list of reasons why the girl is the worst-adjusted person she's ever met.

"You need to focus. If you want to beat Deuteros, you have to put Harrow out of your head."

"I know, Cam," Gideon snaps without any real heat. She looks over to where Harrow hovers, half-obscured by shadow. "It's fine."

When Gideon goes to change and get on the bus, Camilla stalks over to Harrow, who ducks her head over a book the moment she sees Cam coming. 

"You can't be here," Camilla says, folding her arms over her chest. What Palamedes sees in this little sharp-angled, viciously unhappy person, she'll never know. "You can't distract her. You can't tell her you want nothing to do with her and that you 'completely fucking hate' her and then show up here."

Harrow closes the book. Looks up at Camilla, dark eyes glittering. "You're right," she says, softly, standing up. Camilla waits, but there isn't any more. Harrow simply shoulders her backpack and starts walking toward the door.

"Harrow."

Harrow turns, lips pursed and brows raised. "What?"

"Why are you doing this? Why do you say you hate her, then follow her around like a lost puppy? Why did you match with her on Tinder in the first place?"

Harrow closes her eyes for a moment, as if exasperated, then turns away. "I don't have to answer to you."

Camilla lets her walk away, marveling at how someone so small can be so closed off. This isn’t the first time one of Gideon’s friends has had to chase Harrow away. It’s been three weeks since the ‘I completely fucking hate you’ message that Cam knows hurt Gideon more than she’d care to admit, and for two of those three weeks, Harrow has been showing up most places Gideon is. The weirdest thing, in Cam’s mind, is that Harrow isn’t even trying to make contact. She’s just watching with those wide black eyes, as if cataloging Gideon’s every move.

It’s creepy as shit. Camilla tried asking Palamedes about it once - he spent so much time with Harrow that she figured he must have an idea - but he knew as little as she did.

Gideon emerges from the locker room with her phone held out and her gums already flapping, effectively disturbing Cam's already-derailed trains of thought.

"Can you believe Dulcinea thinks this is a guy worthy of her time?"

Camilla doesn't even dignify the proffered Tinder profile with a glance. "Hey, wait," Gideon shoves her phone in her pocket. "Where's Harrow?”

"She left," is all Camilla says, yanking her hoodie over her head. Gideon doesn't say anything. By the time Camilla emerges from the fleece-lined darkness, she's gone too.

* * *

_Are you awake?_

Gideon slaps at her phone when it vibrates, startling her out of the pseudo-doze she had fallen into atop her still-made bed. Her arm aches as she reaches out, a reminder of the brutal match three days ago and the fight she had gotten into outside as the teams boarded their respective buses.

“Harrow,” she groans, thumbing open the message and typing as fast as her injured arm will allow.

**_Is this your version of a booty-calling "you up?"_ **

_Hardly._

**_Then what do you want?_ **

Nothing. Gideon's heart rattles in her chest, tripping over itself with every second spent waiting. If Cam and Dulcinea knew she was doing this, they'd probably take her phone away and flush it down the toilet.

So she heads it off at the pass and texts the group chat. It's only midnight; Corona and Camilla are almost certainly awake. **_Harrow just Tinder messaged me again._**

**Sliding into your DMs,** Corona replies nearly instantly, **nice.**

**No,** Cam types, and Gideon can almost hear her exhausted objections. **Gideon, I thought you weren't going to talk to her anymore.**

**_She texted me first!!_ **

**Yeah, after radio silence for weeks and then stalking you everywhere you go.** Gideon can practically see Cam's text bubble vibrating with stress.

Corona sent, **Plus, she did tell you that she "completely fucking hates" you. What the hell? Mixed messages, much?**

**_What do I dooooooo_ **

**Don't answer,** Camilla sends at the same time Corona's text pops up: **Ask her what's going on.**

Well, neither of those were really options. Gideon had already answered, and she knew that Harrow wouldn't answer her questions even if she asked. Gideon knows that from experience.

###

_ Gideon asked Harrow on a date halfway through their sophomore year of high school. Harrow told Gideon they were breaking up halfway through their senior year. _

_ They were standing in the school parking lot, flushed and breathless from dancing, ears throbbing from the unnecessarily loud, cheesy pop music the prom committee had decided was the best choice for the equally loud and cheesy senior prom. Gideon's hands still had sparkles on them from the sash around Harrow's waist, the only hint of color on her otherwise plain black dress. _

_ "I think we should break up." _

_ Gideon felt herself stiffen, felt the hand that held Harrow's go cold. "What?" _

_ "College decisions are due soon." Harrow was speaking remotely, as if discussing a business deal or her calculus homework. "We shouldn't be one of those couples that deludes themselves into thinking they can make long distance relationships work." _

_ "Hold up." Gideon had pulled her hand away from Harrow's. "You're just assuming that we're going to different schools. Neither of us have made a decision." _

_ "It would be foolish to allow our college decisions to be made around another person." _

_ Gideon wanted to grab Harrow's shoulders and shake her. Instead, she raked a hand through her hair, feeling her fingers tremble against her scalp. "Why are you really doing this, Harrow?" _

_ Harrow's pointy face was shrouded in shadow from the street light looming above them. She didn't look at Gideon when she said, "I'm just being practical." _

_ Gideon didn't know what to say except, "Don't. Harrow-" _

_ "Enough." Harrow took a step away. Then another. Her eyes were cold stone when they met Gideon's. "Enough, Griddle." She turned her back. _

_ "At least tell me why." Gideon's voice shook. She couldn't help it. Didn't want to. _

_ Harrow hadn’t even paused long enough to say goodbye. _

###

“Gideon!”

Gideon wakes with a muffled yell, dropping her phone on the floor in the process. “Sorry,” says Dulcinea, bending down to get it. “You overslept.”

“Overslept?” Gideon hauls her pillow over her face. Her elbow hurts and the hand that was holding her phone aches. “Overslept for what? It’s Sunday!”

“You promised we’d study for finals with Cam and Corona.”

“Oh yeah.” Gideon groans into her pillow, then pushes it off her face. “Oh shit, my phone’s probably dead.”

“Almost.” Dulcinea plugs it in. “No more messages from Harrow.”

“How did you-“

“Group chat.”

“Oh.” Gideon rolls her shoulder until it pops, sighing as the blood starts flowing properly again. She throws her sweatshirt on over the stained T-shirt that passes for pajamas in her economy and heads for the door. “Go ahead, Dulcinea. I know you have opinions about this,” she says, half expecting the older girl to follow her.

“Not really…”

When she looks back at Dulcinea, the older girl is studying the floor, color high on her cheeks, lower lip trapped between her teeth. “What?” Gideon asks warily.

A clatter echoes form the kitchen. Gideon pokes her head out the doorway and her jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of Palamedes Sextus standing before their cabinets, shaking his head wearily at the lack of coffee anywhere in sight.

“Holy FUCK!” Gideon shouts, right as Dulcinea grabs her by the back of the shirt and yanks her back into her room, slamming the door and shoving Gideon backward in a surprising show of strength.

“What the _hell_ , Dulcinea?!” Gideon isn’t sure whether her laughter is coming from a place of discomfort, shock or delight. Possibly all of the above.

“I spent the night with Palamedes,” Dulcinea rushes out.

“Well, no shit!”

“Please don’t make this a thing!”

“Oh, it is SO a thing!” Gideon grabs Dulcinea by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth slightly. “You officially can no longer judge me for any decisions I make about Harrow…or anything else, for that matter.” She releases Dulcinea and laughs when she buries her head in her hands. “Holy _shit_ , what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know!” Dulcinea hops up to sit on Gideon’s messy bed, holding a pillow in her lap. “We ran into each other at the library and started talking and then…” she makes a vague gesture with her hand.

“Dude, what happened to the whole ‘we can’t be together because I’m dying’ blah blah blah thing?” 

Dulcinea muffles a cry into the pillow. “I don’t _know,_ okay?!”

Gideon comes close enough to pat Dulcinea awkwardly on the knee. “Look, I’m not saying I’m mad you got laid because I’m totally not. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or hurt him, which I know would also hurt you, because you’re a cinnamon roll and none of us deserve you.”

Dulcinea’s eyes glitter a little in the late morning light when she looks at Gideon. “It was nice,” she admits quietly.

Gideon holds up a hand for a high-five, which Dulcinea slaps begrudgingly. “That’s what I’m talking about. If anyone deserves good d-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

Gideon holds up both her hands in surrender. “Go show your man where we hide the coffee from Corona. I’m gonna shower and then we can meet the girls.”

Gideon wasn’t expecting the look of horror that falls over Dulcinea’s face. “Oh no. Camilla doesn’t know,” she whispers.

Gideon is saved from having to stifle a laugh at the mental image of Cam’s reaction to this piece of news by her phone vibrating.

_You should delete this app, Griddle. No one needs to be subjected to your face._

**_Then why do you keep staring at it in order to message me?_ **

No answer. What a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU [on Tumblr](http://infernalandmortal.tumblr.com) for comments, roasts or just to scream about GtN. Thank you for reading!!


	3. Not All of Those Things are Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are you doing this?"  
> “Because you were cold and alone…and I didn’t want you to be.”  
> It’s not the words Griddle’s saying as much as how they’re said that makes Harrow want to slap the other girl. She wants to rake her nails across Gideon’s face and make her bleed, wants to do anything it takes to bring back the cold startled anger Gideon wore the night of senior prom and the day of graduation.  
> “That’s not an answer.”  
> “Yes it is.” Griddle’s tone is harsh, but her eyes don’t change. Soft amber, like tea. Light through the red leaves of the tree her mother planted when Harrow was six.  
>  _No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yeah sorry this took so long - pandemics get in the way of fic writing when you're a journalist and spend 50 hours a week inundated with The World Is Ending panic-news. Yeehaw. Send me good vibes pls. I hope y'all are well. Be safe, wash your hands, stay indoors. If you're still working rn, I salute you. We all owe you big. <33
> 
> CW for some internal self-hatred (@ Harrow love URSELF)

_ Let me tell you what I do know:  
_ _ I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good.  
The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet.  
I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly,  
I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper.  _

* * *

Harrow hates event planning.

She would normally be all too happy to allow Coronabeth Tridentarius to plan the honors society gala, but as a club officer, she’s required to put in her time. So she crams it in between studying for finals, writing her final essays, preparing for graduate school applications (taking a year to plan is the bare minimum in her opinion) and studiously avoiding Gideon Nav.

As per her expectations, she is succeeding at all of those endeavors except the last one. Gideon isn’t difficult to see coming, but she is difficult to avoid. Harrow doesn’t spend too much time ruminating on why she can’t bring herself to alter her daily schedule, which lends itself to her seeing Gideon twice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and once on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s for efficiency’s sake. If Gideon cared, she would change her routine.

Her weekends are blessedly Griddle-free. She spends them at the library, huddled in a shadowy corner at a massive wooden table, headphones in to block out the noise and head bent over loose-leaf and note sheets. When Corona slides into a chair across from her, she barely spares the girl a scathing glare before returning to her work.

“Harrow.” When there’s no answer, Corona knocks on the table, rings clattering against the wood. “Harrow!”

“What?” Harrow snaps, ripping her headphones from her head, patting down the hair she knows must be sticking out in tufts.

“You have to come set up for the gala after finals tomorrow, remember? You haven’t answered our emails.”

No, Harrow hasn’t. She’s been too busy to look at her phone for any reason other than to set an alarm for the cursory amount of sleep she needs to not drop dead. She’s vaguely aware that tomorrow is the last day of final exams, but doesn’t care much for anything beside that.

“Fine,” she snaps, hoping that answer is enough to make Corona leave her alone. The other girl sits there, face uncharacteristically twisted into an expression that is almost uncomfortable. “What?”

“Gideon Nav is going to be there.”

To her credit, Corona doesn’t flinch under the weight of the glare Harrow sends her, which she knows is effective. “Why the hell is she coming anywhere near the honors society?” Harrow asks, voice as cool and cold as she can make it.

“I invited her. And Camilla and Dulcinea.”

Harrow feels the tension in her chest ease. Griddle was…Griddle, but Camilla Hect is sensible and quiet, and Dulcinea will entertain Coronabeth. “Fine. I’ll be there two hours before the event to set up. Then I will go home and change.”

Corona’s face relaxes into the kind of disarming smile Harrow knows paves the way for many favors to be granted. “Thank you!” she chirps, sliding away from the table. “Good luck on finals!”

“I don’t need luck,” is all Harrow says, bending her head. Her heart throbs hard in her throat. It takes it a long time to fade away.

* * *

“What do you mean, it _doesn’t fit_?!” 

“The jacket is…” Dulcinea waves her hand absently as she regards Gideon in the full-length mirror attached to her bedroom door. “There’s something wrong with the arms.”

“There’s something wrong with her,” Camilla says absentmindedly, rearranging the pillows on Gideon’s bed so she can sit even more upright than she already is. “Nav, just wear a freaking-“

“If you say I should wear a dress, I will stab you with your own sabre.”

“Joke’s on you, my sabre’s at home.”

“Camilla!” Dulcinea glares at the other woman until she shuts up. “Gideon, I’m not saying that the suit doesn’t fit. I’m saying you need a proper jacket.”

“And I’m not saying you should wear a dress,” Camilla says, shuddering at the thought. “I’m saying you need to just get a vest instead. No weird-fitting arms that way.”

Gideon points at her. “I like that idea.”

Dulcinea groans. “Why do you always wait until the last minute to go shopping for event clothes?”

“I didn’t for the athletics luncheon!”

“No, you just stole my jacket and wore that instead of your own clothes.” Camilla lifts her eyes from her laptop screen. “The arms were stretched out after.”

Gideon allows herself a tiny flex. Dulcinea swats at her. “Sorry,” Gideon says, grinning. “These guns don’t quit.”

“I am begging you never to say that again,” Cam says drily, eyes not leaving her laptop.

“How’s the paper coming?” Gideon asks, watching in the mirror as Camilla’s brow furrows in concentration. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s so much research.”

“I thought that’s what you nerds like.”

Dulcinea snorts out a tiny laugh, then covers her mouth. Camilla’s lips twitch a little. “Sextus helped me with the research, but his citations look like a freshman did them at two in the morning while drunk off their ass on Four Loko.”

“He probably did them at three in the morning exhausted and thinking about ten different things at once,” Dulcinea says, folding the jacket and handing it back to Gideon with an ‘ _unfold this and I’ll kill you_ ’ look.

“What’s going on with you two, anyway?” Gideon asks, ignoring the warning look Dulcinea sends her in favor of rolling up her shirt sleeves. The cuffs stop well below her wrists. Gideon scowls. Women’s fashion does not favor the butch, apparently.

“We’re…” Dulcinea visibly flails for a moment before landing on, “It’s casual.”

“Sleeping over and having breakfast in the morning isn’t casual,” Cam says pointedly, fingers flying over the keys. Gideon knows better than to assume Camilla is half-assing either this conversation or the paper. She’s got her teeth into this subject matter and isn’t going to let it go.

“It’s not really-“

“If you say it’s not my business,” Camilla snaps, eyes lifting from her computer, “I will throw you out of here.”

“It’s my room,” Gideon points out blandly, giving up on her shirtsleeves in lieu of taking the damn thing off entirely. Predictably, neither of her friends even notice.

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Dulcinea’s tone is demure, but sharp. “I was _going to say_ , it’s not really something we’re defining.”

That makes Gideon stop, a hoodie halfway over her head. “ _Palamedes_ isn’t defining something? Really?”

Dulcinea shifts uncomfortably, then goes to sit at Gideon’s desk, shoving the almost-certainly-dead tablet and a mound of books aside to lean her elbow on the surface. “We’re not in agreement on what we want. So we’re compromising.”

“You still don’t want to chain him to a dying girl and he’s still a perfect moron over you.” Camilla states it like a fact. 

“He’s a perfect moron over _you_ ,” Gideon corrects, jabbing a finger at Camilla. “He’s just in love with Dulcinea.”

“ _Just_ ,” Cam snorts. “As if that’s a small thing.”

“Calm down, Hect. Two different loves. Neither of them are bad.”

“Since when did you become the romance expert?” Dulcinea asks Gideon, tone teasing.

As if on cue, Gideon’s phone chimes. Camilla looks back at her computer with the judgmental air of a librarian who just caught a kid shouting. Dulcinea stands up to peer over Gideon’s shoulder and let out a warning _don’t_ when she sees the notification is from Tinder.

“Is it from Nonagesimus?” Camilla asks over the rapid-fire sound of her calloused fingers against keys.

“Yup.” Gideon thumbs it open, ignoring Dulcinea’s heavy sigh of protest. 

_Are you seriously coming to the honors society gala?_

**_Ya. Dulcinea invited me._ **

_How tragic that your one friend happens to be friends with mine._

“Hey!” Gideon says aloud. “I have more than one friend!”

“You have three,” Camilla says absently. “Hardly a step up.”

_Don’t make a fool out of yourself. I’m in no mood to be embarrassed secondhand at your bumbling idiocy._

**_Harsh. I can handle myself at black tie events. I managed our prom just fine._ **

_That was hardly black tie. And, as I recall, you humiliated yourself._

“Ouch,” Dulcinea breathes.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Gideon defends.

“It wasn’t, but it was pretty brutal.”

“We argued!”

“You _screamed_ at each other in the middle of a _very crowded hallway_ ,” Dulcinea corrects, waving her hands for dramatic effect.

“Damn,” Cam says, looking up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why?”

“Same reason as always.” Gideon sighs, turning her phone screen off and tucking it in her hoodie pocket. She knows she looks ridiculous standing there in dress slacks and a hoodie that says “I Meme Well” in large white font, but she doesn’t really care. “Harrow doesn’t think she owes anyone anything.”

“She doesn’t owe you an explanation,” Cam says. “People break up all the time for no reason.”

“I get that, I do.” Gideon motions for the girls to look away so she can put on some leggings. Thankfully, they oblige. “But at the time, I was pissed off and really, really hurt. So I started a fight with her on purpose. And boy, was it a big one. You can look now.”

Camilla rolls her eyes as soon as she knows Gideon can see it. “Why didn’t you just conduct a post-mortem like a normal ex-couple?”

“Name one couple that’s had a successful post-mortem.”

Cam opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. Dulcinea looks at her, eyebrows arching toward her hairline, then back at Gideon. “Palamedes and I did.”

“Look, Sex Pal is the only straight man I trust. Hell, he’s the only _man_ I trust, period. He’s also an outlier and should not be counted. My point is that Nonagesimus and I were like a four-alarm fire. We just…screamed out our differences and that was that.”

Gideon knows she’s inadvertently let something slip when Cam gives her a look that’s probably meant to be soft but just comes off semi-pitying. Gideon knows what she means, though. “That kind of sucks.”

Gideon shrugs. “Yeah. But it sucks worse seeing her all over the place, knowing she still doesn’t want to talk about it. She’ll talk to me about stuff that doesn’t matter,” she holds up her phone for emphasis, “and she shows up wherever I am - I know that’s not a coincidence - but she won’t talk to me about what happened or why she ‘completely fucking hates me’.”

“You could just talk to her at the event tomorrow.” When Dulcinea and Gideon both give Cam identical _are you shitting me?_ looks, she doesn’t even blink. “What? You know my advice only runs two ways: communicate or break up.”

“And we’ve already checked box two,” Gideon grumbles, hanging up her trousers in a way that probably won’t make Dulcinea attack her with an iron.

“Right. So. Communicate.”

Camilla Hect, woman of few, albeit reasonable, words. It’s why Gideon loves her, even though she’s never said it. Platonic love is a luxury Gideon didn’t know she could afford until very recently. It’s weird, but nice. 

She may have fucked up with Harrow, but she’s not going to fuck up with her friends. So she drops the subject and climbs up to sit with Camilla. “Want food?”

“Always,” Dulcinea says, a pleased smile on her face. “The dining hall at the student center got a new pizza place that doesn’t suck.”

“Do they have salads?”

Gideon plucks the laptop from Camilla’s lap. “You will eat pizza, and you will like it.”

“Nav-“

“PIZZA.”

“Fine. Go before the student center closes.”

Gideon plops the computer down and scoots off the edge of the bed. “It’s only midnight.” Cam snorts an _only_ that Gideon ignores. _We can’t all be health nuts who go to bed at a reasonable hour like you do, Camilla_.

Campus is eerily quiet. The stress of finals has shut the place down; the only signs of life are hooded figures scurrying between libraries and food trucks, heads and backs bent under the weight of knowledge and overstuffed textbooks. Gideon’s footsteps echo loudly on the concrete until she ducks into the student center, waving at the freshman manning the information desk at the front of the building.

She gets the pizza (half pepperoni, half with sausage, green peppers, olives and onions) and a side salad for Cam, and decides to take the long way out, mostly because it’s cold outside and the exit from the student center’s facilities wing – home to bland meeting rooms students book for clubs, and offices you only go to if you’re in trouble or a kiss-ass – dumps her out on the street she takes to get home. When she kicks her way out the heavy metal door, she nearly body-checks one Harrowhark Nonagesimus in her hurry.

“Sorry!” she says, mostly out of reflex, reaching out to steady Harrow before she can stop herself. “I didn’t- What are you doing out here?”

“I was setting up for the gala,” Harrow snaps, voice quivering from cold. 

“And you’re chilling outside in the cold because…?” 

Harrowhark narrows her eyes at Gideon’s smirk at her own pun. “I’m waiting for the shuttle.”

“They won’t start running again until two. Finals schedule.”

Harrow doesn’t usually swear, but Gideon can tell she’s thinking every nasty four-letter word she can. “I’ll walk then,” she says stubbornly, brushing past Gideon and skittering down the stairs, her feet making little tapping sounds on the stone.

“Nonagesimus. It’s too cold.” Gideon hustles to catch up. “Wait, just- Okay, look, let me drop off the pizza and then drive you home.”

“Griddle-“

“I’m serious. It’s too cold. And my apartment is halfway to your place anyway.” It’s not really Harrow’s home - it’s her parent’s house, and Gideon knows she only goes there near the end of every semester, and only because she wants so desperately to avoid the end of semester move-out rush.

Harrow stops, leveling Gideon with a glare. “You will _not_ enter my parent’s house.”

“I don’t want to _enter your parent’s house_ ,” Gideons says, grateful when Harrow starts walking again. “I just want to drop you off outside.”

She doesn’t know why Harrow relents. She wants to pretend she didn’t see the precise moment when the younger girl’s resolve breaks, the release as silent as a sigh and as fleeting as the streetlights reflecting in Harrow’s eyes. When she looks up at Gideon, her face is hard, her thin, pale lips trembling from the cold.

“Fine.”

Gideon tries not to smile. “Fine.”

* * *

The last time Harrow sat in this car, she was on her way to senior prom.

Very few things have changed about this car. Gideon still keeps a pair of awful aviator sunglasses in the cupholder. There’s still an old map shoved under the passenger seat, keeping a broken umbrella company. Gideon puts the pizza box in the backseat while Harrow shuffles around, trying to sit upright in a seat that’s leaning nearly all the way back.

“Who _sits_ like this?” she complains, finally giving up and shoving the seat back all the way up.

“Dulcinea” Gideon slams the door. The broken glass still lodged in the driver’s side door rattles. “She practically lays down. It’s weird.”

Not as weird as this arrangement is. Harrow feels disoriented, hot and clammy and jittery all at once, like she’s had too much coffee and not enough to eat, but magnified because she’s typically immune to the nasty side effects of that particular decision. Griddle isn’t looking at her, thank God; Harrow doesn’t think she could handle the intensity of the girl’s lizard-yellow eyes glinting at her in the dark. She can feel the silence between them thickening, stretching like a rubber band or roaring up like a slap that’s coming when you least expect it.

With the way Griddle drives, the twenty-minute drive out of the city takes fifteen minutes. They drive past their old school and Gideon gives it a middle finger out the window. Harrow makes a noise of equal parts shock and disapproval before she can stop herself.

“You were the only good thing that happened to me there,” Gideon says in response. Her voice is unreadable. Harrow decides she doesn’t like this new inscrutable Griddle. She misses the days when she was easy to predict, when she said everything she was thinking, consequences be damned.

They don’t speak when Gideon approaches the gates of Harrow’s childhood home. There’s a light on the kitchen that means Aiglamene is home. Harrow can’t make her hands unclasp from the seatbelt.

“Why did you do this?” Her voice sounds cold in the sudden stillness. Gideon doesn’t even breathe, just turns to look at her, those unsettling eyes burning brighter and warmer than anything has a right to.

“Because you were cold and alone…and I didn’t want you to be.”

It’s not the words Griddle’s saying as much as how they’re said that makes Harrow want to slap the other girl. She wants to rake her nails across Gideon’s face and make her bleed, wants to do anything it takes to bring back the cold startled anger Gideon wore the night of senior prom and the day of graduation.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes it is.” Griddle’s tone is harsh, but her eyes don’t change. Soft amber, like tea. Light through the red leaves of the tree her mother planted when Harrow was six. 

_No_.

“Fine then.” She’s trying for aloof and formal, but it just comes out stiff. “Thank you.” She unbuckles her seatbelt. Reaches for the door. 

“Harrow.”

She forces her shoulders to tense even though they want to relax. “What?”

“Why did you match with me on Tinder?”

Harrow twists to face Gideon, overbalancing and lurching so they’re nearly nose-to-nose over the car’s tiny center console. “You’re still on that?” Harrow snarls.

“I want to know!”

“I have my reasons, Nav!”

“You always have your reasons!” Gideon shouts, one hand flying up to tangle in the red hair at the nape of her neck. A telltale sign of distress. Harrow knows Gideon likes it tugged on when they kiss. She shouldn’t know that. She hates herself for thinking of it. “You just never fucking tell me what they are! You didn’t tell me why you wanted to break up either!”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I-“ Gideon freezes. Her hand falls from her hair and to her lap. She looks at Harrow like she’s trying to decode a message in some ancient book. 

Harrow leans back. She can feel her heart slamming against her chest, shaking the bones like a battering ram on wood. Gideon’s eyes don’t leave hers. She’s trapped. A bug in amber.

Harrow is no stranger to feeling trapped. She was trapped when she was eighteen and she is trapped now, only there is no way to escape the burn behind her eyes and tension in her chest and there is no earthly way she can possibly forget the way Griddle just said her name.

“What?”

“You look like you’re going to cry.”

Harrow closes her eyes. There’s a dampness at her lash line that she wills away by force. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” It’s soft. Tender. Harrow wants to scream. “You can tell me.”

“You,” Harrow says, opening her eyes, “are the last person in whom I would confide.”

There’s no bite to it. She can’t make herself say anything more cruel than that. The windows and the windshield are fogging up. Gideon has turned off the car. The silence makes Harrow’s ears ring. 

Something cold dashes down her cheek. Before Harrow can move, Gideon’s hand is there, a calloused thumb wiping the tear away, carefully patting so as not to smear Harrow’s foundation.

Her skin is warm. Harrow’s whole body is in knots. She feels her lips part, can’t stop her face from turning toward Gideon’s palm. She’s so warm, so _good_ and it makes Harrow want to die when she catches Gideon looking at her mouth.

“Stop it, Griddle,” Harrow says, voice as feeble as the winter wind attempting to shake the car, finding no purchase against the solid metal. 

“Stop what?” Gideon doesn’t take her hand away. “Stop being nice to you? Stop wanting you? Stop l-“

_Stop loving you_. Harrow knows that’s what Gideon was about to say. Gideon knows it too; she pulls her hand back, and it’s her turn to gasp when Harrow grabs for her wrist instead of letting her go.

_I shouldn’t have let you go._ Harrow bites her tongue against the words. Blood trickles between her teeth, sharp and sweet. _I’m sorry. I miss you. I wake up holding myself most mornings because I can’t stop thinking about what it was like to share a bed with you._

“There are things you should know, Griddle.”

“So tell me.”

“No.” _I can't tell you,_ she wants to cry, _because everything that ever happened in this house is my fault, and because my childhood gives me nightmares, and because if I start telling you I won't be able to stop. I'm so tired of being me and I'm so tired of being a sin, and you could fix me but you would hate me in the process._

Harrow’s voice is resolute this time, her grip firm and ice-cold. “You have deluded yourself into loving me. I suggest you change your mind.”

Gideon just smiles, bright and blinding. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what, Griddle?”

“You don’t get to choose how much someone loves you. Or if someone loves you at all. You don't have to like it or act on it. But you do have to live with it.”

Griddle works her hand free from Harrow's grasp and starts the car, inching forward just enough that the motion-activated gates open. The spell of the moment is broken by creaking metal. “Lemme drive you to the door.”

This time, Harrow actually gets out of the car.

* * *

Gideon nearly drops her phone on her face when Harrow messages her on Tinder.

She’s laying in bed watching Vine compilations while Dulcinea sits on her floor, tapping her way through Camilla’s edits on her psychology paper. When she opens Harrow’s message, she must freeze up or something, because Dulcinea peers up at her with an expression of concern mixed with vague exhaustion.

_Griddle._

**_I thought you didn’t want me to talk to you._ **

There’s a fist squeezing Gideon’s heart. If she thinks really hard, she can remember the feeling of Harrow’s skin under her hands, the flutter of her eyelashes and the glossy black of her eyes. If she closes her eyes, she will hear Harrow’s voice break around her name, and Gideon still isn’t sure if that made her want to cry or laugh.

_I matched with you because I still love you._

Gideon stares at the screen, her heart in her throat.

“What is it?” Dulcinea asks softly. Gideon passes her the phone. “Oh. Oh, _Gideon._ ”

Gideon takes the phone back, screenshots it and sends it to the group text. Within seconds, Corona replies:

**What the actual cold-ass hell?**

**She can’t just SAY THAT!**

**What did you SAY????**

**_Nothing!_** Gideon texts back. **_What do I say to all that?_**

**You have to discuss this in person,** Camilla interjects. Gideon can hear her voice in her head. It’s oddly soothing. **Wait until tomorrow.**

Gideon feels vaguely nauseous at the thought, but Cam’s right. This is a delicate line to walk, one that requires more finesse and precision than Gideon ever possessed, and one that will certainly be fucked up if Gideon does this any other way but in person.

She goes to look at the message again, and starts. The fist around her heart closes. Her breath stutters a little bit, and she couldn’t even begin to name the emotion she’s feeling if there was a gun to her head.

“What is it?” Dulcinea asks again.

Gideon shows her the plain screen: _This user has deleted their profile._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to flay me for my apostasy on [Tumblr](http://infernalandmortal.tumblr.com). Your reviews are excellent - thank you!!


	4. More Landmarks, Less Landmines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow nods. A tear runs down her nose. “I told Griddle…things…and it didn’t go well.”
> 
> “She was angry?” Palamedes sounds genuinely shocked.
> 
> “No. That’s the problem. Who can look at me, hear what I have to say, and still love me? How do I know she’s not a liar?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for canon-compliant mentions of suicide.

_ I didn’t want to write these pages until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones.  
I do not have that luxury. I am sad and angry and I want everyone to be alive again.  
I want more landmarks, less landmines. I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it. _

* * *

Camilla hasn’t worn a dress since her sixteenth birthday.

She holds still and watches herself in the mirror while Coronabeth zips up the back of the purple dress that she bought at the thrift store down the street. It’s eerily similar to the one she wore on that birthday, right down to the color; a rich purple satin with a plain skirt, no sleeves and a neckline that dips slightly, draping down to show her collarbones. 

“You look nice,” Corona says in her ear, smoothing her fingers through Cam’s hair, tucking some of it behind an ear. “You look uncomfortable.”

“Did you have to do my makeup?” Camilla watches her expression morph into a grimace.

“It looks nice!” Corona defends, taking Cam’s hand and spinning her around to face her. “You look beautiful. Let’s go.”

It should be more disturbing that Corona knows her way around Camilla and Palamedes’s apartment, but it’s not. Camilla takes it all in stride; she lets Corona march her to the door and smiles at Palamedes over the taller girl’s shoulder.

“Are you wearing heels, Camilla?” Palamedes asks, a little shocked, from the kitchen, where he’s bent over a sleeve, fiddling with his cufflinks. 

“I convinced her,” Corona says with an air of satisfaction.

Camilla strides over to Palamedes and grabs his hand, stilling his motions over his immaculately crisp cuffs. “Stop. You never do it right.” 

“There’s a wrong way to do up cufflinks?” Bewildered, he steps around the kitchen counter to present his wrist to Cam. Camilla doesn’t even realize how Palamedes is cradling her wrist with his hand until she goes to release one cuff and reach for the other.

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly. When he doesn’t answer, she lifts her head, nearly slamming hers against his forehead by mistake.

He looks away from her with a sharp jut of his chin. “Sorry. You can finish.”

Cam doesn’t think about why she can feel the hammer of her heartbeat in her fingertips. She simply finishes fixing his cuffs and stalks toward the door.

“Thanks,” Palamedes calls after her. Corona locks them both out with the keys she grabbed from Cam’s hook by the door.

“You okay?” she asks once they’re out on the street. It’s a three-block walk to the building where the honors society gala is being held. It will take Cam half that time to get herself together.

“Yes.” 

“You sure?” Corona waves her hand in the air a little. “That was certainly...a moment.”

Camilla rolls her eyes. “It was nothing.”

Corona stops at the street corner. Across from them is the campus, cast in darkness and shadows. That view is why Camilla prefers walking in the dark. There’s beauty in hidden things.

“You have feelings for him. A little.” Corona says it casually. When Cam nods her head the smallest bit she can, Corona grins. “So is that why we had that one-night stand? So you could forget him?”

Camilla regards Corona in her silver dress, her curves on full display, her hair and eyes dancing in the street lights. Her fingers catch around the other woman’s hand. Corona laces their fingers together steadily. “No.” Her voice is nearly swept away by the wind. “I slept with you because you were beautiful. And I stayed around because I like you.”

Corona grins a devilish grin, her purple eyes gleaming like a cat’s. She lifts their twined hands and kissing the back of Camilla’s. “I’m _so_ glad.”

* * *

Gideon’s got to hand it to the honors society. She didn’t even know their college had a venue quite this nice, and can’t believe they let students use this place for events.

Heels and dress shoes clack against the shiny stone floors as students sweep their way into an atrium with high ceilings and glowing stained-glass windows. There’s music echoing from the DJ’s sound system into the hall Gideon is hovering in, waiting for the rest of her friends to show up as she fiddles impatiently with her vest.

“Stop touching it!” 

_And there it is_. Gideon turns toward the sound of Dulcinea’s voice and obediently lets go of the vest’s hem. The older girl hustles down the hall as fast as she can, her breath whistling in her lungs, her hair swinging around her arms like a series of deranged pendulums.

“Nice dress,” Gideon says appraisingly, taking Dulcinea’s hand and twirling her around so the midnight blue skirt fans out around Dulcinea’s ankles. The dress’s gold and blue sleeves flutter.

“Thanks.” Dulcinea smiles prettily just to see Gideon grin. “You clean up well, too.”

“This entire outfit was literally your idea.”

“I know.” Dulcinea tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a genius.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Camilla’s dry voice sounds from behind them. She rests her hands on Gideon’s shoulders and looks her up and down. Gideon has the distinct feeling of being back in uniform inspection at fencing practice. “Not bad.”

“Gee, thanks, Cam.”

“Are we going in or hovering in the hallway?” Dulcinea asks. “And where’s Coronabeth?”

“She’s already in there.” Cam fiddles with the neck of her dress.

“Okay, then let’s go.” Dulcinea leads the way, the picture of confidence. Cam trails behind and Gideon starts to follow, but a scuff of shoes on polished stone and a commanding “Griddle” stop her cold.

“What?” She turns toward Harrow, feeling her shoulders tense with every passing second. The high-low hem of skirt of Harrow’s high-necked black dress fans out behind her as she walks quickly down the hall, every inch the dramatic picture of a young goth queen.

Harrow says nothing. She halts about six feet from Gideon. Her eyes sparkle in the light from the atrium. A couple lights made to look like lanterns flicker on above them. Behind Harrow, Gideon can see the sunset through the windowed doors to the outdoor courtyard.

“Kay, fine, I’m going in.” Gideon turns away.

“Gideon, stop.”

Despite all her instincts, Gideon stops. She doesn’t turn around this time. “What, Harrow?”

“I’m sorry.”

Now Gideon does turn around. Despite her contrite words, Harrow’s chin juts out defiantly. “Sorry for what?” Gideon asks. “Sorry for texting me? Sorry for yelling at me in the car? Sorry for breaking up with me?”

“Sorry for telling you that I loved you.”

Gideon’s blood runs cold. “That’s it. I’m done.”

She makes it all the way into the atrium and locks eyes with Cam across the room before she feels Harrow grappling at her sleeve. “Griddle, for God’s sake, just _listen_ -“

“Everything alright?” Corona asks, appearing at Gideon’s other elbow, holding a glass of wine in one hand and her skirts in the other. “Hi, Harrow!”

Harrow ignores her. “Griddle, come into the hallway. Please.”

Corona’s eyes dart between the two of them. Gideon can tell from the grin crossing her face that the older girl has come to the wrong conclusion. “I’ll…leave you two alone,” she says elegantly, lifting her wine glass to her lips and drifting off toward Cam and Dulcinea. When Gideon looks over, both Cam and Dulcinea are staring at her.

Harrow says, pleadingly, “Gideon, _please_ ,” and Gideon, despite all her better judgment, follows.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” is the first thing Harrow says, rounding on her from where they stand under one of the electric lantern-looking lights. The shadows cast lines against her pale cheeks. “I meant… I just- I was sorry for texting you that because it wasn’t fair. Not because I regretted it.”

Not what Gideon was expecting. Not by a long shot. It takes her a second too long to get her bearings. She hears the faint tapping of shoes and the closing of a door, but when she turns, there’s no one there. Maybe someone was going to the bathroom.

If they really are alone, she can say what she wants. “I don’t care if you regret it, Harrow!” Okay, that’s not super true, but Gideon’s heart is racing and her hands are shaking and she just wants this all to _stop_. “I want to know WHY!”

“Why what?” Harrow goes from contrite to spitting mad in 2.5 seconds. Good to know. “Why I love you? The list is shrinking by the minute, Griddle.”

“You told me why you matched with me, but why did you show up everywhere I was?” Gideon throws her hands in the air, runs one through her overgrown hair and tugs on the section at the back of her neck. “Why did you break up with me in the first place? Your Tinder explanation was great but it’s only one piece of a really shitty puzzle, Nonagesimus.”

“And you think you’re _so entitled_ to my explanations, is that it?” That’s it. The only way Gideon has ever known something matters to Harrow - her anger. “You think you deserve to know everything just because you asked?”

“HELL NO!” Gideon shouts, listening with no small satisfaction as her voice echoes down the long hall, down toward the glass doors and the brilliant red-pink sunset. “I don’t deserve to know anything but I sure as hell would love an explanation since you refused my offer of a post-mortem and made my high school graduation a living hell.”

“You started it!”

“HARROW!” Harrow’s mouth snaps shut. “I want to know why. I want to understand. I want to apologize if I hurt you or fix it if I can, but right now I just want to know what we’re doing.”

Harrow looks taken aback. “What…we’re doing?” Her voice is cautiously soft.

“You could’ve blocked me, but you didn’t. You didn’t have to show up everywhere I was, but you did. You could’ve asked me not to come tonight and I wouldn’t have, and don’t bother saying you didn’t know that because we both know that’s not true.” Gideon steps close enough to the wall to lean against it. “What are we doing?”

Harrow stays where she is, standing in the center of the hallway, looking like a lost and opaque ghost. “I… I broke up with you because I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Gideon says nothing. Harrow turns to face her, and Gideon is genuinely shocked to see tears in her eyes. “I helped cover up a double suicide, Griddle. I didn’t want anyone finding out. Least of all someone I lo– Someone who didn’t hate me already.”

“How the hell would I have found out?” is all Gideon could think to ask. “And who died?” as an afterthought.

Harrow’s eyes grow impossibly sad. “My parents. Their company’s shareholders got tired of excuses. They wanted to see them, and me, when I turned eighteen. They wanted to meet the girl who would inherit the empire. I had to take apart my own lie, and I didn’t need anyone who knew me to watch me do it.”

Silence. Gideon couldn’t think of anything to say. So Harrow kept talking. “They died when I was a child. Aiglamene agreed to help me run the company, keeping my parents alive on paper until I was old enough to take over. I’m not making any business decisions yet - that will wait until I have my degree - but back then, I had to pretend to be both of them.”

“Hold up, wait, they-" For once, Gideon doesn’t say the first thing that comes to her mind; she bites her tongue around the words _they killed themselves?!_ and instead asks, “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because you hate me.” Harrow says it blankly, like all her emotional capability has been sucked out. “So I couldn’t make anything worse, even by telling you the truth. If I had told you then, you would have left.”

“You don’t know that.” Gideon holds up her hands when Harrow opens her mouth. When she closes it, Gideon sees her lips trembling. “I would’ve stayed. All you had to do was ask. All you ever had to do was ask. Ask me to keep your secrets, ask me to give you some space, ask me to leave you alone…whatever. But you never asked. You just assumed you knew what was best for both of us. And yeah, you know what’s best for you. Maybe. But you shouldn’t have made that choice for me and you should’ve told me why you did.”

Harrow sniffles, a tiny sound that echoes off the walls, even with the loud music coming from the party behind them. “I’m sorry, Harrow,” Gideon says, a little softer, a little gentler. “I’m so sorry for what happened with your parents. You didn’t deserve that.”

Harrow rears back, regarding Gideon through narrow, gleaming eyes. Her chest heaves; Gideon sees a mottled flush rise up from her throat to her cheeks.

“YOU’RE SORRY!” The shout rings in Gideon’s ears. Somewhere behind her, Gideon hears a muffled hacking cough that doesn’t quite register as anything important. “I broke your heart! I hurt you irreparably and then came back to you and refused to let you get close to me but also refused to let you go. I was cruel and withholding and awful to you and you have the _temerity_ to tell me that _you’re SORRY_?!”

Gideon reaches for Harrow’s hand, then pulls away when Harrow steps back. The smaller girl’s hands are shaking; her eyes are glossy with tears. “I- Wait here,” she says abruptly before turning tail and racing toward the doors, her black head and long skirt bouncing as she runs.

Gideon stands there. It’s her chest’s turn to heave, her eyes’ turn to fill with tears. The creak of a door and a series of loud hacking coughs do little to break her focus on the glass doors that lead out to the courtyard, now swinging slowly closed, buoyed by the cold December wind outside.

“Are you okay,” Coronabeth asks softly. She, Cam and Dulcinea are all there, leaning against a wall, all with varying expressions of tensity, discomfort and/or embarrassment. 

“They were eavesdropping from that closet,” Cam points with a thumb to a nondescript door. “I feel like there’s possibility for an ironic joke there.”

“Oh, and you weren’t?” Corona takes a sip from her wine glass. Gideon clocks the way Cam watches Corona’s throat work, and tries not to grin despite herself.

“You _shoved_ me in there!” 

“You were going to interrupt them, Cam,” Dulcinea points out. The back of her hand has a smear of blood on it, as if someone used the skin to blot a particularly strange shade of lipstick. Gideon looks to it, then to Dulcinea, who waves her off. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to leave? Or go back to the party?” Cam’s voice is low and reasonable, and it somehow helps calm the rapid hammering of Gideon’s heart.

“No,” she says. Her denial visibly startles all three girls. “I told Harrow she just had to ask. And she did. So I’m waiting.”

Dulcinea’s face shifts from confusion to understanding to pride. Camilla looks, strangely, very uncomfortable. Corona frowns. “Well, okay then. I don’t get why you’re waiting around for her, but okay.” She raises her empty glass in solidarity. “We’ll be around with drinks when you’re done.”

She sweeps away in a silver-skirted whirlwind, pulling Dulcinea along behind her. Camilla lingers, her dark eyes studying Gideon like she is a particularly rare specimen.

“Don’t let her hurt you, Nav,” Cam says after a second, equally the tough fencing captain and worried friend. “You’re too good to let her jerk you around like that.”

The tightness in Gideon’s chest eases. She hadn’t even realized she was holding in a breath. “I won’t. Thanks.”

Cam opens her mouth, then closes it again. She gives Gideon a peculiar nod and stalks away, back into the mess of a party in the atrium, its loud music and partially-drunken cheers. Despite herself, Gideon smiles. Who knew honors kids knew how to pregame?

There’s a bench down the hall, a little closer to the courtyard door. Gideon sits down, hands clasped in her lap, feeling a little like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office. Despite herself, her eyes continue to stray to the door.

“She’ll come back,” she says aloud before she can stop herself. “She always does.”

* * *

Harrow doesn’t know if she wants to scream, cry or both.

She doesn’t get the chance to do either. As her shoes clatter obnoxiously on the pavers ringing the small courtyard and her teeth chatter from the cold wind, she realizes she’s not alone only seconds before she bursts into tears.

“Sextus.”

Palamedes turns to regard her. In the dim light from the frosted windows of the atrium where the party is in full swing, his grey eyes shone like two pale stars. “Harrow.”

He’s standing near a bench and offers her a seat there with a sweep of his arm. When she sits, arms and face and heart all numb, he puts his jacket over her shoulders and lowers himself down beside her. “What brings you out here?”

Harrow’s heart still hammers against her chest. She feels her mouth shaking, her traitorous hands trembling even when she balls them into fists. “I needed…a moment.”

“Are you okay?”

A tear spills forth. “I- I don’t know.” Another one runs down to her chin, streaking through her makeup. 

Palamedes rests a tentative hand on her back, patting it gently when she sniffles. “Anything I can do?”

Harrow shakes her head. She feels her lips twist up in a rueful smile. “Not unless you can turn back time.”

She feels, rather than hears, Palamedes sigh. When he speaks, it’s with the air of a man who is imparting advice to someone else that he has no intention of believing for himself. “I have found,” he says slowly, “that there are many ways to remedy the past without wishing for a time machine.”

“Like what?” She sounds like a petulant child. It’s past time to care about that. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is racing and she cannot, for the life of her, get a grip on her emotions. Hence the tears and petulance.

“Honesty. Communication.” He looks at Harrow for a long moment with a kind of fond expression. The kind she imagines a brother would wear. It makes her heart hurt in the strange hollow place where she keeps her grief over her parents and her despair over Gideon. “I’m assuming you just made an attempt at both.”

Harrow nods. A tear runs down her nose. “I told Griddle…things…and it didn’t go well.”

“She was angry?” Palamedes sounds genuinely shocked.

“No. That’s the problem. Who can look at me, hear what I have to say, and still love me? How do I know she’s not a liar?”

Palamedes leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and looks back and over his shoulder at Harrow. “Has she given you any reason to question her honesty?”

That brings Harrow up short. No, Gideon hasn’t. In fact, she has always kept her promises.

“Ah.” Palamedes says the syllable as if he knows something. “Maybe it’s time you finished what you started. You deserve closure.”

He stands, and Harrow does too, wiping the tears from her eyes and handing Palamedes’s jacket back. Her heart still racing and her eyes barely dry, she starts toward the door before belatedly realizing something and turning back around.

“What are you doing out here?” Her voice echoes the question back at her.

Palamedes sighs and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “I am…thinking about several errors I have made.”

“The kind that can only be reversed by a time machine?”

Palamedes nods slowly. “I’m afraid so.”

The two regard one another for a moment, a little tense and awkward, but mostly just exhausted. Harrow has a vague feeling that Palamedes’s angst has to do with the Septimus girl Griddle lives with, and probably also his best friend, the harsh girl with an expression like a brick wall. 

“I hope you come to a resolution.”

He sounds a little desperate when he answers, “Me too.”

Harrow leaves him to his rumination and steps back into the warm corridor. She isn’t sure what shocks her more: the sudden heat blasting from the old radiators, or the sight of Gideon sitting on a bench, nearly exactly where Harrow had left her.

“What are you doing, Griddle?” Harrow asks as she approaches. Her hands are shaking. Her heart hammers against her ribcage.

“You asked me to wait,” Gideon says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So I waited.”

Harrow doesn’t realize she’s moving until she’s looming over Gideon, her legs almost bracketed by Gideon’s knees. Griddle’s legs brush against her skirts. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

“I shouldn’t do a lot of things.” Gideon’s calloused hands cup Harrow’s face. Harrow shivers at the warmth and the scrape of her skin, but doesn’t pull away. “But I can do this.”

She presses a kiss to Harrow’s nose where the skin met the bone of the frontal sinus. Harrow stiffens, but can’t make herself move back. When Gideon leans away, Harrow moves; she raises her hands to Gideon’s cheeks and rises up on her toes to crush their mouths together.

“I missed you,” she gasps when they part. She opens her eyes to see Gideon’s looking back at her, beautiful gold gleaming in the faint light. Gideon’s chest heaving and Harrow’s whole body trembling. “I’m sorry, Gideon, I should’ve told you, I should’ve-“

“Too many _should’ve_ s,” Gideon says conversationally, pressing her lips to Harrow’s forehead, keeping her close. “How about we just start over?”

Harrow feels Gideon’s breath against her skin. She focuses on releasing the tension in her shoulders, feels her heart rate slow. It’s almost like they’re dancing, like they’re back at senior prom, complete with the slow song playing in the distance, as if the atrium is another world away.

Gideon hears it too. “Isn’t this the song we danced to at prom?” When Harrow nods, she feels Gideon’s answering grin. “Do-over?”

Harrow steps back to take Gideon’s hand properly and allows Griddle to spin her around. “Okay.”

Gideon lets out a tiny cheer. Harrow can’t help but laugh. Together, they dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for allowing me to write for and entertain y'all. It has seriously been a real hell of a pleasure. I'm sure I'll be back - I definitely want to do more in this verse with my emotionally-messy Sixth kids and my golden Third girl. :)  
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://infernalandmortal.tumblr.com) for fic requests and general GtN screaming :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [infernalandmortal](http://infernalandmortal.tumblr.com) for any and all roasts, criticism and shouting about GtN. I just finished reading it to my mother and we're both in our feelings atm.


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